


The Brute and the Bowman

by JoeMcJoe



Series: Freedom City [2]
Category: Mutants & Masterminds (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Gen, Obscure novel reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-17
Updated: 2008-02-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 07:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6845035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeMcJoe/pseuds/JoeMcJoe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"After things have been weird in the Freedom League, I like to fight some street crime to clear my head."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Brute and the Bowman

When it's been really crazy in the Freedom League, I like to go hunting for street crime. This month, for instance, we've fought two killer robots, a pack of shape-changers and vampires, three guys out to take over the world, and an intelligent swarm of cockroaches. So a little vice and corruption seemed like it would clear my head.

And bullseye, swinging past an alley in Lincoln I heard, "Your money or I cripple you." I leapt off the brownstone to the rusty fire escape and saw the situation: perp with a blaster pistol and an old lady.

The perp was maybe thirty-five, dark-haired, clean-shaven, white and hard. White stands out in Lincoln. I pinned him to the wall with a regular arrow. He tore his jacket getting free, but a stun arrow took him down fast, and I gave the old lady her money back. But what was interesting was that the perp was using not a pistol, but a blaster pistol, of a design I hadn't seen before.

I took some photos--mostly of the blaster.

I trussed him up all Thanksgiving turkey, and went through his pockets. He had no ID or driver's license--enough sense to leave them in the car, I'll bet--but he had a dental receipt in his pocket. That put his name as Thomas Kirkup. The dental receipt led me to a dentist's office, and that gave me an address in the Fens, a part of Freedom City I know well.

The address was an apartment, and it was occupied by a family: thin pinch-faced woman and at least two kids. I swung onto the balcony and knocked on the door.

"That damn cat," I heard from inside, and then the door opened. There were canned goods all over the table; they had been shopping or something. The woman stopped in surprise.

"This your husband?" I showed her an image of Kirkup.

"I just live with him."

"He's had some problems. He won't be home tonight."

"The law, right?" She swore. "And after he got the new job, with dental--"

A supervillain offering dental insurance? "What new job?"

"He was at Louie's and got a word that a guy was hiring. It's Louie's, I figured it for a costumed nutjob--no offense--but he had dental." She looked at me. "Our daughter has a cleft palate. We needed that dental." She sank into a chair; tears started to run.

"Oh."

"He said he was just going out to shoot some pool. Oh, Tommy..." She looked up at me. "You caught him, right? You can let him go. Please." Pleading turned to angry obscenities as I left.

She followed me as far as the balcony and shook her fist at me as I left. I felt bad about her daughter.

* * *

Every city has at least one bar like Louie's. It's a place where supervillains recruit thugs and assistants. Better to have them recruiting in a place you know about than recruiting somewhere unknown--my grandfather funds three of them.

Louie's closed at three in the morning, so I waited until three-thirty and talked to Nigel, the bartender. He came a couple of years ago to finish a thesis on superhuman conflict. "Who's hiring? More importantly, who's offering dental?"

Nigel laughed. "A supervillain offering dental! You might as well... Wait a second. They were talking about 'all the perks'--I didn't think they meant dental but... Just a sec." He rummaged around and finally found a piece of paper; he wrote an address on it with a pencil. "You can try there. But what makes you think they'll be hiring?"

"One of their guys is in jail." To change the topic, I said, "How's the thesis?"

"Had an insight, I'm rewriting it."

I nodded. Nigel is always rewriting that thing. He'll still be at Louie's when there's a new Bowman.

* * *

I don't do disguises. Raven's offered to show me, Daedalus would give me tips, but frankly, it's more trouble than it's worth, when I can just get captured. (A supervillain who offers dental isn't going to kill me.) I made preparations, then I lurked around the Givmee factory that the address pointed to.

The thug who hit me didn't know his business: he hit me across the back, which is the strongest part of any archer. Pulling back the bow uses the back, you see. I went down like he expected me to and stayed down. He had friends; they carried me in and trussed me up to a table. Too much rope--they were sloppy about the knots. Hands were all over me, taking my bow and quiver.

I managed to get the knife under me, and I sawed most of the way through the ropes before the Big Bad came in. This particular one had a lab coat over a skintight suit, with some kind of mechanical mask. He had the start of a potbelly.

All the thugs had blasters. And crests on their shirts. This was, clearly, the best-organized new supervillain group I had run across. Of course, I could probably have tracked them down through the crests, too. Most supervillains don't think about that sort of thing.

"He's already awake," said the Big Bad. The mask had a voice changer built in. "Good morning. Sorry for the delay; I was in bed when you came."

"Sorry to put you out," I said.

He shrugged. "Comes with the job." He walked around the table. "So you want to know the details of the plan? Since you can't stop it, and I would like to share it." He looked at the guards. "Even though I know that doing so will have me laughed at."

"Please." I struggled against my bonds, but not too hard: I didn't want to break free yet.

"Well...since you said please." He preened for a moment. "You have heard of the JillBowl dolls?" I had; I had even been thinking of getting one for Serena. Just as friends, of course, her being younger than I am, and all. "Each Jill has a circuit board in it. On one side of the circuit board is the stuff that a Jill doll does. On the other side is a set of components that moves Kirlian...well, I guess it's easiest to say 'steals life force.' At the cost of a mere two or three years, each person--each household--can donate to me some of their personal power. I will be, simply, invincible. Using that rig over there." He nodded toward a full headset with a chip hanging down, like a tail.

"You made the JillBowl dolls?" He nodded, his skull shining in the room's fluorescent lights. "Wow. I was going to buy one. But what will you do when you're invincible?"

"Rule the world."

"Do you want to rule the world?"

"Well, no, but it seems that someone has to. The world is in pretty poor shape."

"And how will, say, being able to punch through a brick wall help you rule the world?"

"I'll-- Uh. Threats for the taking over but--" His shoulders slumped. "It won't."

I nodded. "There's a reason super-types haven't taken over yet. A man can still make a difference without having super powers."

"But someone has to save the world!"

"It seems to me that anyone who can sell the JillBowl dolls can come up with a lot of good ideas. Don't inventors usually hope that they can achieve that kind of market penetration?"

"Well..."

"And if you decide to leave off the life-force-sucking equipment, well--"

"The vril transfer," he said absently. "You're right. I'd lower my per-unit cost and be able to make more profit!"

"Exactly. And then you can give the money to causes you prefer. So if you'll just let me free--"

"Oh, sorry." He bent over me to untie the ropes.

Which is when his henchman knocked him out. Figured he was going to get fired soon, I guess. I snapped my bonds and surged off the table. There were only eight of them, but that's too many for me in a face-to-face battle. I ran for my bow and quiver, which were across the room.

In retrospect, that was a mistake.

The henchman--I didn't even know his name--ran for the life force rig, I ran for my bow and quiver. Once I had it, I nocked and shot two arrows; two thugs fell, pinned to the floor and a wall.

That gave the traitorous henchman the chance to fit the helmet onto his head. Once the "tail" touched his skin, he screamed and doubled over. The hoarse scream woke the Big Bad, who looked blearily around.

I shot twice more and two more thugs fell, one with a Saturday Night Special in his hand. I don't know why he was using that instead of a blaster. I could use it to shoot the life force rig, but I didn't know if that was smart or it might be lethal; I just didn't know. I didn't do it.

The man with the helmet had started to grow. There was a tinge of purple-gray to his skin now, and his shirtsleeves tore around his now-huge arms. I shot directly at him, at his foot, hoping to pin him to the floor, but the arrow bounced off. He was already invulnerable to my arrows.

The Big Bad pulled the mask off and stared. He was a mild-looking man with deep creases in his face. The last three thugs leaped at me but all missed; all I had to do was step aside.

With a twist of my wrist, I set a stun arrow for area, and let fly; the last three thugs fell down. By now the transformation was complete: the man was huge, nine feet tall and purple-gray. There was no civilization left in his eyes, just a feral awareness. He roared once.

"Oh, David," whispered the man. To me, he said, "It was on strength. Easier to test."

I aimed a bladed arrow right at his head. The arrow wouldn't hurt him-- "I'm going to destroy the helmet." Peripherally, I saw him nod. I couldn't hear more because the trapped men started screaming.

I aimed, shot an arrow, and hit the off switch. The brute straightened and looked at us. Okay. I fired again, and the helmet came off his head.

It had no effect. The brute locked his hands together and swung at me. He missed me--I dodged--and shattered the floor where we had been standing.

"How long does it take to wear off?" I shouted to the man.

"I don't know--it never did this to me!"

I dodged another blow from the monster. "Get out," I said, and turned my attention to the brute.

If he were immune to my arrows, I might need more powerful help. I reached for my Freedom League communicator only to discover it was gone. They had taken it when they took my bow, and I couldn't see it in the wreckage. I was on my own. Okay.

With another roar, the brute reached for me. If he laid a hand on me, I would snap. He didn't lay a hand on me--this time.

In the open, I would have more room to move, but he would be able to move. I fired off a net arrow, hoping it would hold him, but not believing it would.

It didn't.

The trapped men screamed again. I had shot the arrows that trapped them; I was responsible. I taunted the brute and let him follow me to another interior door, and hoped there was room to maneuver on the other side.

Ah--an opening into the factory. The floor was littered with conveyor belts and machines, all of which added components to JillBowl dolls. On the far side I saw a vat of plastic, poured into moulds for the body. The brute was invulnerable to my arrows, but not necessarily the heat of the liquid plastic. I headed that way. He followed.

"I'll crush you, puny man!" he yelled at me.

If I had a dollar for every time I've heard that...I'd be rich. Richer.

I slid under a conveyor belt, then over a carton of headless Jill bodies. The brute didn't care; he went through them all. I looked at the control panel for the vat of plastic. It would take time to pour, so all I had to do was stand there and not get hit.

Sure. Easy. As if.

I hit the control panel and moved so I was just beyond the vat. The brute roared again. "You stopped it! Had plan! Would be good!"

"You couldn't plan your way out of a bag," I said. I had to keep him angry. The control panel started beeping warnings. "And not a plastic grocery bag, but a netting bag for oranges." He swung again; I was waiting for him, and he didn't manage to hit me. "No, something smaller. A dice bag."

He roared again. I don't think he knew what a dice bag was. Well, I didn't peg him for a gamer. I dodged the next punch and looked up at the vat. It was tipping--

Mistake. The next punch hit me. I heard something break and the next thing I knew I was flying. I remember thinking stupidly, Oh, this is how it feels when I hit the wall and fell to the ground. There were two of everything, and none of it was worth seeing once.

That was when the hot plastic hit him. Gouts of foul-smelling pink liquid pounded on him, muffled his roars, splashed and bounced and spattered all over the room. Droplets stung my bare chin and elbows.

I shook my head and slowly got up. My arm was dislocated or my collarbone was broken--I drooped on one side. The plastic was a pink abstract statue in the middle of the room. I sighed.

He flexed, and bits of cooling plastic flew everywhere. The plastic hadn't harmed him at all. He looked for me; I scurried behind a machine. With my arm like this, I couldn't draw a bow. Of course, my arrows didn't affect him anyway. No, I needed something else.

I moved farther down the aisle I was in. The brute shook, like a wet dog, and bits of plastic spanged off all four walls and the ceiling. I looked at the ceiling and noticed the gas nozzles for the fire system, instead of sprinklers.

Gas works by laying down a heavier than air layer and suffocating the flame. That might work. There was the question of what I'd do to breathe, since I think this guy could knock down the wall so I would have to stay in the room--

The smoke arrows use a flame-based ignition system. I took one out of my quiver and realized I would have to get it up to the sensor.

Of course, then he could see me. I could hear him moving around in the room.

He came to the end of the aisle and saw me anyway. "Little man!" he cried. I did a backflip into the next aisle, landed a bit wrong because I was trying to cradle the bad arm. That gave the brute time to catch up, because he just ploughed through the machines, knocking them aside in a way that made me realize that aisles were just conveniences to him.

If he hit me again, I would be unconscious. I dodged. And again. He ran forward, his arms wide, hoping to catch me in a bear hug. I ducked under his arms, and kicked him in the back of the knee. It knocked him down--the surprise, probably--and I clambered on top of a desk, then a cabinet, hoping to get to the sensors.

The brute punched the cabinet, putting his fist through the thin metal. He pulled back and the cabinet moved with him. I tumbled to the concrete floor again. Then he tried to smash me with the cabinet. I rolled out of the way as it clanged down.

No. The gas was a good idea, but without a mask of my own I couldn't stay here, and he wouldn't stay here unless I did. I would fall unconscious before he did. There had to be something else.

He threw the cabinet in frustration; I dodged that easily by diving into the next aisle, then screamed in pain as my shoulder hit the ground. Sooner or later he was going to hit me and finish the job.

Then it hit me: vril had created this monster, vril could end it. One of these rooms had to hold completed JillBowl dolls, with hidden life-energy-sucking circuitry. They had batteries in the stores, they would here. All I had to do was find it, lead him there, and turn them on.

And not go outside. If he realized he could leave, he might. I ran for a door; that behemoth followed me.

The next room was offices, cubicles packed together with waist-height dividers. I spotted two doors, one marked Exit. I took the other--and ended up in another office. Why they needed so many offices in a factory was beyond me.

There had to be a warehouse room, and it had to be off the manufacturing room. Without knowing the layout, I had to go back.

Fortunately the brute made it easy for me by throwing a desk station at the door. "Little man stay here!" He stood there, his feet wide to block the aisle. He might talk like a three-year-old, but he wasn't entirely stupid.

I slid under his legs and headed back. He grabbed another desk and threw it before that door. The door, however, had a crash bar, and it opened outward, so I hopped up on the desk, hit the crash bar, and left. He followed, crashing holes through the doorways.

I ran through the manufacturing room and spotted two other exits I hadn't tried. Again, one had an exit sign and again I didn't take that one.

Success this time. I was surrounded by rows on rows of JillBowl dolls, and the monster was coming. All I had to do was wait for him, make an impossible shot to turn on the dolls, and get out of the way before I lost my vril.

Easy. I ducked around a corner so the brute would come well into the room.

I rolled and sat. Had to hold the bow with my feet, but Granddad had made me train that way. Aimed while the brute stared at me--I have to admit, I probably looked kind of silly. And then he reached for me, just as I let go.

Bullseye. I felt...something when the dolls started. The brute felt it too, and he grimaced.

I rolled again. I left my bow behind when I left the room, but you can buy a new bow; I put as much distance between me and those dolls as possible.

The brute screamed. When his screams had faded to whimpering, I looked back. A man lay there. I turned off the machine.

I threw him over my good shoulder and walked outside. "Press charges?" I asked the owner.

"It _was_ a criminal enterprise," he said.

Always the way, I thought. I dumped the man there and made a note that we ought to pay for the cleft palate operation.

And I'd buy Serena flowers instead of a JillBowl doll.  
  



End file.
